


Where I Belong

by KellCavs



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 11:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellCavs/pseuds/KellCavs
Summary: Margot often thinks about how things could be different. Sometimes she wishes it turned out better.





	Where I Belong

**Author's Note:**

> Please give a warm welcome to Margot Anne Carrington - nee, Sinclair.  
> I'll have many more fics with her, as I have probably half a dozen filed away somewhere.

     Sometimes I wish I had died in the vault. I'd be with Nate. We would be together for all eternity, just as we had promised each other when we got married.  
     In the early morning in Sanctuary Hills, I contemplate this, as I watch the dust float and swirl in the yellow rays of warmth that filter through the faded curtains. I lay on my bed, one arm curled under my head, the other across my stomach and think of all the what-ifs and old memories that warm my insides.  
     I hear people start to begin their day, but I stay in bed a while longer. There are days I find it nearly impossible to want to move from this bed, as uncomfortable as it is. I know if I don't get up eventually, someone will come looking for me.  
     There's always someone that needs something, always something that needs fixing or built. My days are rarely quiet.  
It keeps me busy, I suppose. Keeps the mind quiet.  
     My grandmother would always say, “Idle hands do the devil's work, Margot,” and she'd give me something to do, some menial task that kept me busy until my mother came to pick me up.  
     I miss them so much.  
     If the bombs never fell, I wouldn't have so much to do. I would be softer, the baby fat would still be on my waist, love handles on my hips. I still have the baby belly. It didn't go away, even with all the running around I do.  
      _Better for grabbing_ , Nate had used to say.  
     I smile at the memory, and I can almost feel his lips near my ear.  
     I've rebuilt a life here in 2288. It'll be 2289 in a few months. It's been over a year since I woke up...  
      _Two hundred and eleven years._  
     The number echoes in my head like a church bell.  
     So much has happened since I woke up.  
I have more friends now than I ever had before the bombs fell. More enemies too, I suppose.  
     I have many titles now. _General, Sentinel... Whisper._ No. I'm not Whisper anymore. I couldn't be. Not after what I had done. I can still hear them screaming - still see the look of betrayal in their eyes. There was so much anger and hurt. I wish I hadn't done it.  
      _I trusted you!_ Deacon had screamed at me. I couldn't bear to do it. He raised his gun and pointed it at me. I could see the hatred behind his sunglasses. He had his finger on the trigger and was about to pull it when he was shot.  
     He died hating me. I don't know who it was that actually killed him, but I do know that a bullet from my gun didn't kill my best friend.  
     At least that's what I tell myself. It helps me sleep at night.  
     Maybe one day I'll rebuild it all. When the Brotherhood of Shitheads gets out of the Old North Church. How many confused synths need my help?  
     I couldn't even bury them. They wouldn't let me. _Assholes_.  
     I hear laughter from outside, and the loud grunting of brahmin down the street; it stirs me from my memory. I hear Carla bartering with another trader. I hear the heavy footsteps of the local guards changing patrols. Preston is whistling a cheerful tune as he makes his daily rounds.  
     The shops I have built are opening up, the chains clattering against weathered wood as vendors begin their day.  
     Through it all, I hear him asking question after question to anyone who will answer.  
_But why's it got two heads? How come Radstags have six legs but only four of them work? Are they a residual evolutionary trait? Why don't Brahmin have two extra hooves?_  
     Shaun.  
     My wonderful, darling, inquisitive Shaun, experiencing the outside world for the first time. He's got so many questions, many of them ones I can't answer. The hardest one is always, “What was dad like?”  
     When he asked that the first time, I suppose I didn't answer in the best way. I took him to his bedroom and I played him the holotape Codsworth had given me the day I woke up from the vault.  
     As we listened, I held him - my son, my sweet, innocent Shaun, pressed my face into his hair, and wept. For what, I didn't know. I think it all just hit me at once. The enormity of it all, I guess.  
     When it was finished, he turned to me.  
     “Mom,” he said, “Can we listen again? I want to hear him again.”  
     Through my tears, I nodded and hit play.  
     He is my son, synth or not. Damn what the Brotherhood says.  
     I wish I had done more.  
     The night I destroyed the Institute and everything my son had known and built, I knew there was nothing more I could do.  
     That night, and for many nights after, hundreds of people raised their glasses to me.  
     “To the Vault Dweller - Savior of the Commonwealth!”  
     Piper had demanded I tell her everything. I told her as much as my heart could bear.  
     For weeks, I distracted myself. I built dozens of settlements with my bare hands. I planted crops that would yield hundreds of pounds of food. I drank, smoked, swam in the harbor. I finally allowed myself fall in love again.  
     But I didn't fire a single bullet for months after I destroyed the Institute.  
     There was too much killing in the world already.  
     I found homes for the innocent civilians that were living underground. Helped the children find parents or people to take care of them.  
     I tried to make it all better.  
     I don't know if I did much.  
     But I'm trying.  
     John tells me I can't save everyone. Someone is always going to need a helping hand. He tells me I need to think of myself too. I know he's right. If I tried to help everyone, I would wear myself out.  
      _You're too damn good for the Commonwealth, sunshine,_ he said one night as he held me, _It doesn't deserve you._  
     I finally pull myself out of bed. I fix up the blankets as best as I can and fluff up the pillow. I tidy up and for a minute, it feels so domestic and foreign to me, I lose myself in the moment.  
     I sigh and put the broom down and get dressed for my day.  
     The vault suit hangs in the closet today. There's too much work to be done, so I find a pair of armored leather pants and an old flannel shirt instead. And the boots. If there's one good thing I'll say about Vault-Tec is that they knew how to make a good pair of boots.  
     I strap the Pip-Boy to my arm and head down the street to the big house.  
     I look at what I've made. The houses I've built, the shops I've opened. The crops I helped plant. It's amazing. I'm even impressed by how much I've learned about guns and power armor. Nate would be so proud.  
     Sometimes I wish I had died in the vault. But then I realize part of me did. Things will never go back to how they were. I'll never be Margot Carrington, lawyer, ever again. But I know that I've given these people something worth living for. And they've done the same for me.

**Author's Note:**

> This may end up being part of a longer piece, or just a dumping ground for drabbles I send to my boyfriend. 
> 
> I take requests!


End file.
